Chromosome 6

by Robin Cook

  “For three years,” Arturo said. “But no more. The manager is a bad person. I prefer to stay in Bata. I’m lucky to have work.”

  “We want to tour the GenSys facility,” Jack said. “Do you think we’ll have any trouble?”

  “They don’t expect you?” Arturo asked with bewilderment.

  “Nope,” Jack said. “It’s a surprise visit.”

  “Then you may have trouble,” Arturo said. “I don’t think they like visitors. When they repaired the only road to Cogo, they built a gate. It’s manned twenty-four hours a day by soldiers.”

  “Uh-oh!” Jack said. “That doesn’t sound good.” He’d not expected restricted access to the town and had counted on being able to drive in directly. Where he expected to have trouble was getting into the hospital or the labs.

  “When Esteban called to say you were going to Cogo, I thought you’d been invited,” Arturo said. “I didn’t think to mention the gate.”

  “I understand,” Jack said. “It’s not your fault. Tell me, do you think the soldiers would take money to let us in?”

  Arturo flashed a glance in Jack’s direction. He shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re better paid than regular soldiers.”

  “How far is the gate from the town?” Jack asked. “Could someone walk through the forest and just pass the gate?”

  Arturo glanced at Jack again. The conversation had taken a turn in a direction he’d not expected.

  “It is quite far,” Arturo said, evincing some unease. “Maybe five kilometers. And it is not easy to walk in the jungle. It can be dangerous.”

  “And there is only one road?” Jack asked.

  “Only one road,” Arturo agreed.

  “I saw on a map that Cogo is on the water,” Jack said. “What about arriving by boat?”

  “I suppose,” Arturo said.

  “Where could someone find a boat?” Jack asked.

  “In Acalayong,” Arturo said. “There are many boats there. That’s how to go to Gabon.”

  “And there would be boats to rent?” Jack asked.

  “With enough money,” Arturo said.

  They were now passing through the center of Bata. It was composed of surprisingly broad tree-lined, litter-strewn streets. There were lots of people out and about but relatively few vehicles. The buildings were all low concrete structures.

  On the south side of town, they turned off the main street and made their way along a rutted unpaved road. There were large puddles from a recent rain.

  The hotel was an unimposing two-story concrete building with rusted rebars sticking out the top for potential future upward expansion. The façade had been painted blue but the color had faded to an indistinct pastel.

  The moment they stopped, an army of congenial children and adults emerged from the front door. Everyone was introduced down to the youngest, shy child. It turned out that several multigenerational families lived on the first floor. The second floor was the hotel.

  The rooms turned out to be tiny but clean. They were all situated on the outside of the U-shaped building. Access was by way of a veranda open to the courtyard. There was a toilet and a shower on each end of the “U.”

  After putting his bag in his room and appreciating the mosquito netting around the inordinately narrow bed, Jack went out onto the veranda. Laurie came out of her room. Together, they leaned on the balustrade and peered down into the courtyard. It was an interesting combination of banana trees, discarded tires, naked infants, and chickens.

  “Not quite the Four Seasons,” Jack said.

  Laurie smiled. “It’s charming. I’m happy. There’s not a bug in my room. That had been my main worry.”

  The proprietors, Esteban’s brother-in-law, Florenico, and his wife, Celestina, had prepared a huge feast. The main course was a local fish served with a turniplike plant called “malanga.” For dessert there was a type of pudding along with exotic fruit. An ample supply of ice-cold Cameroonean beer helped wash it all down.

  The combination of plentiful food and beer took a toll on the exhausted travelers. It wasn’t long before all of them were fighting drooping eyelids. With some effort, they dragged themselves upstairs to their separate rooms, full of plans to rise early and head south in the morning.

  Bertram climbed the stairs to Siegfried’s office. He was exhausted. It was almost eight-thirty at night, and he’d been up since five-thirty that morning to accompany the animal handlers out to Isla Francesca to help get the mass retrieval under way. They’d worked all day and only returned to the animal center an hour earlier.

  Aurielo had long since gone home, so Bertram walked directly into the manager’s office. Siegfried was by the window facing the square with a glass in his hand. He was staring over at the hospital. The only light in the room was from the candle in the skull, just as it had been three nights before. Its flame flickered from the action of the overhead fan, sending shadows dancing across the stuffed animal tro-phies.

  “Make yourself a drink,” Siegfried said, without turning around. He knew it was Bertram, since they’d talked on the phone a half an hour earlier and made plans to meet.

  Bertram was more of a wine drinker than an imbiber of hard alcohol, but under the circumstances he poured himself a double scotch. He sipped the fiery fluid as he joined Siegfried at the window. The lights of the hospital lab complex glowed warmly in the moist tropical night.

  “Did you know Taylor Cabot was coming?” Bertram asked.

  “I hadn’t the faintest idea,” Siegfried said.

  “What did you do with him?” Bertram asked.

  Siegfried gestured toward the hospital. “He’s at the Inn. I had the chief surgeon move out of what we call the presidential suite. Of course, he was none too happy. You know how these egotistical doctors are. But what was I supposed to do? It’s not like I’m running a hotel here.”

  “Do you know why Cabot came?” Bertram asked.

  “Raymond said that he came specifically to evaluate the bonobo program,” Siegfried said.

  “I was afraid of that,” Bertram said.

  “It’s just our luck,” Siegfried complained. “The program has been running like a Swiss clock for years on end, and just when we have a problem, he shows up.”

  “What did you do with Raymond?” Bertram asked.

  “He’s over there, too,” Siegfried said. “He’s a pain in the ass. He wanted to be away from Cabot, but where was I supposed to put him: in my house? No thank you!”

  “Has he asked about Kevin Marshall?” Bertram asked.

  “Of course,” Siegfried said. “As soon as he got me aside, it was his first question.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told the truth,” Siegfried said. “I told him Kevin had gone off with the reproductive technologist and the intensive care nurse and that I had no idea where he was.”

  “What was his reaction?”

  “He got red in the face,” Siegfried said. “He wanted to know if Kevin had gone to the island. I told him that we didn’t think so. Then he ordered me to find him. Can you imagine? I don’t take orders from Raymond Lyons.”

  “So Kevin and the women have not reappeared?” Bertram asked.

  “No, and not a word,” Siegfried said.

  “Have you made any effort to find them?” Bertram asked.

  “I sent Cameron over to Acalayong to check out those cheap hotels along the waterfront, but he didn’t have any luck. I’m thinking they might have gone over to Cocobeach in Gabon. That’s what makes the most sense, but why they didn’t tell anyone is beyond me.”

  “What a God-awful mess,” Bertram commented.

  “How did you do on the island?” Siegfried asked.

  “We did well, considering how fast we had to put the operation together,” Bertram said. “We got an all-terrain vehicle over there with a wagon. It was all we could think of to get that many animals back to the staging area.”

  “How many animals did you get?”

  “Twenty-one,�
�� Bertram said. “Which is a tribute to my crew. It suggests we’ll be able to finish up by tomorrow.”

  “So soon,” Siegfried commented. “That’s the first encouraging news all day.”

  “It’s easier than we anticipated,” Bertram said. “The animals seem enthralled by us. They are trusting enough to let us get close with the dart gun. It’s like a turkey shoot.”

  “I’m glad something is going right,” Siegfried said.

  “The twenty-one animals we got today were all part of the splinter group living north of the Rio Diviso. It was interesting how they were living. They’d made crude huts on stilts with roofs of layered lobelia leaves.”

  “I don’t give a damn how those animals were living,” Siegfried snapped. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft, too.”

  “No, I’m not going soft,” Bertram said. “But I still find it interesting. There was also evidence of campfires.”

  “So, it’s good we’re putting them in the cages,” Siegfried said. “They won’t be killing each other, and they won’t be playing around with fire.”

  “That’s one way to look at it,” Bertram agreed.

  “Any sign of Kevin and the women on the island?” Siegfried asked.

  “Not in the slightest,” Bertram said. “And I made it a point to look. But even in areas they would have left footprints, there was nothing. We spent part of today building a log bridge over the Rio Diviso, so tomorrow we’ll start retrievals near the limestone cliffs. I’ll keep my eyes open for signs they’d been there.”

  “I doubt you’ll find anything, but until they are located we shouldn’t rule out the possibility they went to the island. But I’ll tell you, if they did go, and they come back here, I’ll turn them over to the Equatoguinean minister of justice with the charge that they have severely compromised the GenSys operation. Of course, that means they’ll be lined up out in the soccer field in front of a firing squad before they knew what hit them.”

  “Nothing like that could happen until Cabot and the others leave,” Bertram said with alarm.

  “Obviously,” Siegfried said. “Besides, I mentioned the soccer field only figuratively. I’d tell the minister they’d have to be taken out of the Zone to be shot.”

  “Any idea when Cabot and the others will be taking the patient back to the States?”

  “No one has said anything,” Siegfried said. “I guess it’s up to Cabot. I hope it will be tomorrow, or at the very latest, the following day.”

  CHAPTER 21

  March 9, 1997

  4:30 A.M.

  Bata, Equatorial Guinea

  Jack awakened at four-thirty and was unable to get back to sleep. Ironically, the racket made by tree frogs and crickets in the courtyard banana trees was too much even for someone fully adjusted to the noisy sirens and general din of New York City.

  Taking his towel and his soap, Jack stepped out on the veranda and started for the shower. Midway, he bumped into Laurie on her way back.

  “What are you doing up?” Jack asked. It was still pitch dark outside.

  “We went to bed around eight,” Laurie said. “Eight hours: that’s a reasonable night’s sleep for me.”

  “You’re right,” Jack said. He’d forgotten how early it was when they’d all collapsed.

  “I’ll go down into the kitchen area and see if I can find any coffee,” Laurie said.

  “I’ll be right down,” Jack said.

  By the time Jack got downstairs to the dining room, he was surprised to find the rest of his group already having breakfast. Jack got a cup of coffee and some bread and sat down between Warren and Esteban.

  “Arturo mentioned to me that he thought you were crazy to go to Cogo without an invitation,” Esteban said.

  With his mouth full, all Jack could do was nod.

  “He told me you won’t get in,” Esteban said.

  “We’ll see,” Jack said after swallowing. “I’ve come this far, so I’m not going to turn back without making an effort.”

  “At least the road is good, thanks to GenSys,” Esteban said.

  “Worst case, we’ve had an interesting drive,” Jack said.

  An hour later, everyone met again in the dining room. Jack reminded the others that going to Cogo wasn’t a command performance, and that those people who preferred to stay in Bata should do so. He said that he’d been told it might take four hours each way.

  “You think you can make out on your own?” Esteban asked.

  “Absolutely,” Jack said. “It’s not as if we’ll be getting lost. The map indicates only one main road heading south. Even I can handle that.”

  “Then I think I’ll stay,” Esteban said. “I have more family I’d like to see.”

  By the time they were on the road with Warren in the front passenger seat and the two women in the middle seat, the eastern sky was just beginning to show a faint glow of dawn. As they drove south they were shocked at how many people were walking along the road on their way into the city. There were mostly women and children and most of the women were carrying large bundles on their heads.

  “They don’t seem to have much, but they appear happy,” Warren commented. Many of the children stopped to wave at the passing van. Warren waved back.

  The outskirts of Bata dragged by. The concrete buildings eventually changed to simple whitewashed mud brick structures with thatched roofs. Reed mats formed corrals for goats.

  Once completely out of Bata, they began to see stretches of incredibly lush jungle.

  Traffic was almost nonexistent save for occasional large trucks going in the opposite direction. As the trucks went by, the wind jostled the van.

  “Man, those truckers move,” Warren commented.

  Fifteen miles south of Bata, Warren got out the map. There was one fork and one turn in the road that they had to navigate appropriately or lose considerable time. Signs were almost nonexistent.

  When the sun came up, they all donned their sunglasses. The scenery became monotonous, uninterrupted jungle except for occasional tiny clusters of thatched huts. Almost two hours after they’d left Bata, they turned onto the road that led to Cogo.

  “This is a much better road,” Warren commented as Jack accelerated up to cruising speed.

  “It looks new,” Jack said. The previous road had been reasonably smooth, although its surface appeared like a patchwork quilt from all the separate repairs.

  They were now heading southeast away from the coast and into considerably denser jungle. They also began to climb. In the distance they could see low, jungle-covered mountains.

  Seemingly out of nowhere came a violent thunderstorm. Just prior to its arrival the sky became a swirling mass of dark clouds. Day turned to night in the space of several minutes. Once the rain started, it came down in sheets, and the van’s old, ragged windshield wipers could not keep up with the downpour. Jack had to slow to less than twenty miles an hour.

  Fifteen minutes later, the sun poked out between massive clouds, turning the road into a ribbon of rising steam. On a straight stretch, a group of baboons crossing the road looked as if they were walking on a cloud.

  After passing through the mountains, the road turned back to the southeast. Warren consulted the map and told everyone they were within twenty miles of their destination.

  Rounding another turn, they all saw what looked like a white building in the middle of the road.

  “What the hell’s this?” Warren said. “We’re not there yet, no way.”

  “I think it’s a gate,” Jack said. “I was told about this only last night. Keep your fingers crossed. We might have to switch to plan B.”

  As they got closer, they could see that on either side of the central structure were enormous white, latticework fences. They were on a roller mechanism so they could be drawn out of the way to permit vehicles to pass.

  Jack braked and brought the van to a stop about twenty feet from the fence. Out of the two-story gate house stepped three soldiers dressed similarly to those who�
�d been guarding the private jet at the airport. Like the soldiers at the airport, these men were carrying assault rifles, only these men were holding their guns waist high, aimed at the van.

  “I don’t like this,” Warren said. “These guys look like kids.”

  “Stay cool,” Jack said. He rolled his window down. “Hi, guys. Nice day, huh?”

  The soldiers didn’t move. Their blank expressions didn’t change.

  Jack was about to ask them kindly to open the gate, when a fourth man stepped out into the sunlight. To Jack’s surprise, this man was pulling on a black suit jacket over a white shirt and tie. In the middle of the steaming jungle it was absurd. The other surprising thing was that the man wasn’t black. He was Arab.

  “Can I help you?” the Arab asked. His tone was not friendly.

  “I hope so,” Jack said. “We’re here to visit Cogo.”

  The Arab glanced at the windshield of the vehicle, presumably looking for some identification. Not seeing it, he asked Jack if he had a pass.

  “No pass,” Jack admitted. “We’re just a couple of doctors interested in the work that’s going on here.”

  “What is your name?” the Arab asked.

  “Dr. Jack Stapleton. I’ve come all the way from New York City.”

  “Just a minute,” the Arab said before disappearing back into the gate house.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Jack said to Warren out of the corner of his mouth. He smiled at the soldiers. “How much should I offer him? I’m not good at this bribing stuff.”

  “Money must mean a lot more here than it does in New York,” Warren said. “Why don’t you overwhelm him with a hundred dollars. I mean, if it’s worth it to you.”

  Jack mentally converted a hundred dollars into French francs, then extracted the bills from his money belt. A few minutes later, the Arab returned.

  “The manager says that he does not know you and that you are not welcome,” the Arab said.

  “Shucks,” Jack said. Then he extended his left hand with the French francs casually stuck between his index finger and his ring finger. “We sure do appreciate your help.”

  The Arab eyed the money for a moment before reaching out and taking it. It disappeared into his pocket in the blink of an eye.